


Early Mornings

by Fayola



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, just disgustingly schmoopy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:56:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5277485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fayola/pseuds/Fayola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quiet moments in the early morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> I'm freaking the right fuck out over #47. I consoled myself by writing this trash.

     At first, Tailgate wasn’t sure what had broken his recharge cycle. He didn’t have a duty shift today, and he had made sure to disable his alarms to take full advantage of that fact. It was still early, his chronometer told him – horribly so. Even earlier than his alarm would normally go off. Which probably meant… 

     “Cyclonus,” he mumbled, voice heavily laced with static.

     “Mm?” The soft rumble of acknowledgment came right up against his audio, punctuated with a feather-light kiss. A shiver rippled down the minibot’s spinal strut.

     “Just because _you’re_ up,” he chastised, “doesn’t mean _I_ have to be.”

     His protests went unheeded. Sharp, nimble fingers did not pause as they traced transformation seams along his chest. Age-roughed lips continued to ghost kisses across his helm and down his neck. The warm EM field entwined within his own pulsed lazily. 

     Tailgate huffed quietly, cracking open an optic to peer blearily up at his lover.

     “What do you have against sleeping in, huh?” he grumbled, trying his best to sound irritated. He was finding the front difficult to maintain, though, especially when Cyclonus chuckled against the neck cable he had been mouthing and sent another one of those sweet shivers coursing through him.

     “I much prefer savoring you in person than in my dreams,” Cyclonus growled, low and smooth and Primus _damn him,_ that wasn’t fair!

     “Flatterer,” Tailgate groaned, optics fluttering closed again behind his visor. He wrapped an arm about his partner’s neck, trying to encourage those meandering lips to remain where they were. Cyclonus seemed only too happy to oblige, field flaring in equal parts amusement and affection. The soft, suckling kisses along his collar fairing were interspersed with sharp nips that had the minibot squirming. Chuckling again, Cyclonus smoothed a hand down Tailgate’s side, gripping the tire at his hip and giving a _squeeze_.

     He tried to reciprocate the caressing touches, but the lingering haze of recharge and the thick, heady EM field of his lover surrounding him made his fingers slow and clumsy. It did not seem to bother Cyclonus – in fact, he gave a rather contented hum and pulled Tailgate more firmly against his broad chest. The familiar thrum of the warrior’s spark could just be felt, and Tailgate burrowed closer to the comforting source.  
  
     “I love you,” he breathed, vents sighing in serene bliss.

     It took a moment to notice that the caresses had slowed, and he whined in protest as his hands were gathered up and forced to a halt, pressed against the warrior’s chestplates. He unshuttered his optics, tipping his helm back to blink up at his lover –

     Who stared back with an intensity in his crimson gaze that had a rush of heat coursing through him, blossoming out from his spark and tingling all the way down to his pedetips. A hand came up to cup the side of his helm, thumb stroking over the vents in his faceplate.   
  
     “I am undeserving of you,” Cyclonus murmured, dipping his helm down to press the crest of his helm to Tailgate’s, “but oh, how I love you…”

     Tailgate had to consciously remind himself to in-vent for a moment. He reset his vocalizer with a pop of static.

     “D – do you have anywhere to be today?”

     “Not until third shift,” came the smiled response.

     “Good.” He curled his fingers under the edges of warm purple plating and tugged, dispersing of any space between them.

     There were worse ways than this, he supposed, to be woken up on your day off. 


End file.
